


A Mistake That Costs Someone Their Life

by RhianthiAlritak



Series: A Practice Run [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Autistic Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens) has ADHD, I play fast and loose with grammar because I started as a poetry kid, Like literally so much plant death, M/M, My zebra haworthia died, a lot of plant death I guess, im coping, my usual gratuitous use of italics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-30 10:40:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20445788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RhianthiAlritak/pseuds/RhianthiAlritak
Summary: Crowley is beginning to think Aziraphale is cursed.





	A Mistake That Costs Someone Their Life

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes your plant dies, and you have to project those feelings onto Aziraphale.

Crowley likes plants, even as he threatens them, deep down, really, he does like them. But you can't let the plants _know_ that, if you let the plants know they misbehave.

He likes plants. Plants are simple. Plants don't dare judge you while you stalk about your own flat at two in the morning. Plants don't talk, don't require food, and they look quite nice.

So it _seemed_ like a good gift idea. Something simple, small and easy to care for. Something to add a little greenery to the dreary windows of Aziraphale's shop.

Standing over what's become a very sad pile of brown goo, Crowley comes to realise a plant may not have been a fantastic anniversary gift after all.

Especially with the way Aziraphale is fretting.

"I don't know what I did wrong!" he cries. "It seemed _fine_ yesterday! And yet today, well just _look_ at it Crowley."

Crowley nods, not really listening. What Aziraphale did wrong is evident from the oversoaked soil the gooey corpse of a haworthia sits in. Poor thing really, it hadn't responded well to his threats, but had flourished when they ceased. And succulents didn't require much in terms of maintence to stay alive. It seemed like the perfect plant for the angel.

And now it was dead. Crowley sighs.

"You drowned it, Angel."

"I what?"

"Drowned it. Too much water. Root rot, nasty way to go."

"Oh dear. I do hope it wasn't a painful death."

Crowley snorts. "'S a plant."

"It was such a lovely little thing too," Aziraphale mutters. "Like little gems in the sunlight."

"We can get you another one."

"It won't be the same."

"Sure it will, I can get you a cutting from the same parent plant."

* * *

Aziraphale kills the next one. Not on purpose, he does water it less than it's predecessor, and it does live _longer_, but it still dies. This time when Crowley looks over the remains he notes that the soil is beyond dry, it's practically never seen water.

After the third haworthia, Crowley considers keeping a spreadsheet of the casualties. Or trying a different plant.

Yes, that second one seems like a good idea.

Aziraphale kills the moon cactus, and the Christmas cactus, and the aloe, and the lemongrass, and that last one surprises Crowley because lemongrass likes to have wet feet and the corner of Aziraphale's shop he was keeping it in was perfectly warm for the thing.

Aziraphale does _follow_ the instructions he gives him for plant care. He follows them to the letter.

A dozen plants later, Crowley is beginning to think Aziraphale may be cursed.

Tomatoes are finicky, but he thinks maybe the incentive of ripe fruit fresh from the vine will mitigate his suspected curse a bit. So he selects a rather sturdy one from a local nursery. One that seems like it can take anything the plant murdering angel can dish out.

Aziraphale kills the tomato.

Crowley gives up on plants as gifts for almost a decade after that.

* * *

The cottage is cozy, the greenhouse is lovely, the seasonal vegetable garden is flourishing.

The pear tree, is not.

"I don't understand! Everything else grows well here!"

"Angel," Crowley says, gently as he can. "It may be time to admit you don't have anything even resembling a green thumb." He expects Aziraphale to fight him on this, the pear tree was the angel's pet project, and it's not _dead_, it's just, well, sad. Instead Aziraphale shakes his head.

"I suppose so. I think I may go read something, dear. I wouldn't want to disrupt the other plants."

Crowley watches him walk back to the house. As soon as Aziraphale has disappeared into the cottage, he turns to the tree. "Lisssten, you," he says with more of a hiss than he means to. "If it were up to me, you'd be pulling yourself into proper shape driven solely by your need to not be introduced to an axe. But you're not my tree, you're his, and you're devastating him. He thinks he can't keep one little tree alive. You did that."

Crowley stops short. Oh. _Oh_. All of a sudden, it hits him. No amount of love and caring and not-threatening is going to keep a plant in Aziraphale's care alive. Not when he's convinced that every plant in his care is doomed.

Suddenly it all makes sense. Of course it does. Aziraphale can care for whatever plant Crowley might give him, he can care for it with all the love and adoration and perfectly followed instructions in the world. And it will still die.

Because Aziraphale expects it to.

Crowley laughs. And for a brief horrifying moment he worries he won't be able to stop laughing. He inhales sharply, catches his breath, and glares at the pear tree. "I'll deal with you in a moment."

And he stalks off towards the house.

* * *

Inside, Aziraphale is reading aloud. A small violet toned haworthia is perked up nicely in its planter, seemingly hanging on the angel's every word. Aziraphale had accepted the gift, but refuses to provide the care for the poor thing, completely convinced that should he do his part to water and trim and look after the little waxy skinned gel filled gem that it will die. And he does not want it to die, and oh, Crowley's plants always seem so healthy, if a bit terrified, so as long as Crowley doesn't threaten this one, he can care for it.

And he does.

And it's still alive.

Crowley leans over the back of the arm chair Aziraphale is sitting in. "Your pear tree is just fine. Your long list of victims would've been too if you weren't so certain you'd be the death of them."

"Of course I would! You saw what I did to the first one you gave me."

Crowley nods. "Yeah, was thinking about that. S'that all it takes, angel? One setback and suddenly you're a plant murderer for eternity?"

"Well-"

"Didn't think so. No, no, your pear tree will do fantastic. And so will this one, s'long as you stick to the instructions it'll do fantastic. I know it will. I know you will."

Aziraphale thinks for a moment, then nods firmly. "Right then, I'll get it right this time.

And he does.


End file.
